


In Bloom

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bad Deaton, Good Peter, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nemeton, Plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 08:02:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: He's a green spark. It's in his nature to nurture. And this… this nemeton, she needs him. He's never been so sure of anything in his life.





	In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubyredhoodling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubyredhoodling/gifts).



> This is an auction fic Rubyredhoodling won in the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico auction.
> 
> Beta'd by majoline. Looked over and given the okay by Triangulum.

He drives his Jeep into town early on a Wednesday morning. He sees the sign: **Welcome to Beacon Hills**. He laughs to himself. The name is apt. Something in the town's been calling out to him for months and now he's finally here.

He's tired. He's driven practically nonstop most of the last two days. But the 'beacon,' whatever it is, urges him on. It's stronger now that he's close, of course. Urgent. He drives around the edges of the town until the roads match the pull.

There's a sign for a nature preserve. He parks, gets out of the Jeep. He stretches because damn, he's stiff. He's been driving for too long. 

But he can tell the urgency is there, and he finds himself following it deep into the woods. The trees are happy to see him. Excited. The sun is coming up, filtering through the canopy, and he gets a good look at the flora around him.

The trees are mostly oak and pine, but with some cedar and aspen interspersed. There are all kinds of shrubs as well, and Stiles makes a game of reciting their species and genus names under his breath.

The magic in the forest is unmistakable, though it gives off a weak, sickly aura.

About a mile into the woods his feet hit a ley line and he nods to himself. He can't see it but he can feel it, and he instinctively knows if he follows it, it'll lead him to where he needs to go. So he does.

The trees whisper to him, the leaves shivering with delight and excitement. They tell him of their history, of the land and the sun and the soil. They tell him about the forest's guardians, the wolves who live on the other side of the trees.

And then his feet take him to a convergence of ley lines and the most beautiful tree he's ever seen. She shines with life, with growth, though she's sick. He can tell she's been poisoned. And she whispers her sadness.

Stiles puts his hands on her trunk and listens to her cry. Then he leans in, resting his forehead against her bark. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

She grabs onto his promise, grabs onto _him_. It's almost overwhelming how desperate she is to live. Stiles finds himself crying with her. He can feel her pain. He can feel all her disappointment, and her anger, but most especially her hope.

He's given her hope, and it's beautiful. He worries at the way she clings to him with her magic, at how desperate she is to bond, but he can only nod and accept it. He doesn't think he could tell her no.

He's a green spark. It's in his nature to nurture. And this… this nemeton, she needs him. He's never been so sure of anything in his life.

"I'll make it right," he whispers, running his hand down her trunk. 

She is full of relief now. Relief and hope.

* * *

The preserve feels different. Peter isn't sure how else to describe it, and he can't put it into words, and he can't put his finger on what, exactly, _is_ different. He just knows something has changed.

The feeling is too vague to bring to Talia's attention, but he knows he's not imagining things. Not when the trees look more alive than they have in his recent memory. When the breeze through the forest carries the scent of green, growing things.

Why shouldn't the trees look alive? Why shouldn't he smell growing things in the preserve? And yet somehow…

It _feels_ different. The preserve, somehow, is _more_. 

He has a memory, very old, of things being a lot like this. He was small, walking with his grandmother and their emissary at the time. 

Peter hasn't thought of Paulina in ages. She'd been old, older even than Peter's grandparents. She always smelled like green things. And she often walked through the forest, like Peter finds himself doing now, and he remembers she talked to the trees. 

Their current emissary doesn't talk to trees. Peter doesn't think he talks to Talia all that often, really. He smells like dirt, mountain ash, and ozone, but nothing like what he remembers of Paulina.

Peter's never trusted Deaton, but then he doesn't trust many people. At least, not easily. Especially after a hunter nearly burned their house down around them six years ago, someone who got close to them with smiles and sweet words. Peter found out about it, stopped it before the situation burned out of control, but he won't forget how close they came to being decimated. 

Talia tells him he's too suspicious, paranoid. But Peter isn't about to let someone like Kate Argent close again. He's not going to let anything in to threaten their pack.

* * *

Stiles has decided he likes Beacon Hills. And since he's bonded to the local nemeton, there's not a whole lot he can do but settle down. So he looks for a job, and finds one fairly quickly with a local nursery. Stiles has impeccable references and his job history might be sketchy but damn, he's worked at some of the most prestigious places in the world, plant-wise. So what if he's mostly hauling manure and mushroom compost around the nursery? He's around plants so he thrives, and the pay isn't bad. He knows it won't be long before the owner starts to realize Stiles is good for more than lifting heavy bags of mulch.

He rents a room above an empty store in town. It's small and takes some cleaning, but it's perfect for his needs. He isn't there often, anyway. Most nights he just takes a sleeping bag out to the nemeton and spends the night with her. He does what he can to reverse the poison. She appreciates his proximity as much as his healing magic, and Stiles is always more comfortable in the preserve than alone in a too-small apartment.

When he's not working or spending time with the nemeton, he's wandering the preserve, sending out a bit of magic to all the other plants that live there. They talk to him and he talks to them. It's nice. He's having better conversations now than he ever did in college.

* * *

"Talia, something weird is going on." Peter paces his sister's office and tries to put it into words. "Someone or something has been in the preserve. Often. I can smell it, but I don't recognize it."

Talia watches him with more than a little exasperation. "You have to give me more than that. What do you expect me to do?"

Peter growls, frustrated. "I don't know. But if it's a threat…"

Her eyes soften. "Peter. Not everything is a threat to our pack."

"Of course not. But I need to assess the situation and right now… I can't. I think it might be magical in nature. The scent reminds me of Paulina."

"Dad's emissary?" Talia's eyebrows go up. "Okay. So I'll ask Alan about this mysterious scent."

"It's not just a scent but a feeling. Haven't you felt anything in the preserve lately?"

Talia huffs, amused. "I haven't had time for runs lately. I work, I come home, I take care of the children…"

"Those children are nearly grown," Peter says wryly.

"They still need guidance," Talia says. "Being a parent doesn't end at a certain age, you know."

"If you say so," Peter says. He doesn't believe a word of it. Still, Talia is Alpha and training her daughter Laura to take up the mantle once it's time. Which won't be for decades yet, of course. Talia's much too happy with the way things are now.

Talia looks pensive. "I should go for a run, though. Staying cooped up inside isn't doing me any favors."

Peter nods. It's good to keep the wolf satisfied.

"Maybe on the full moon."

"We should all run," Peter suggests. "It's been some time since we've run together on the full moon as a pack." He remembers doing it every month when he was small. He knows Talia thinks of the old ways as superstitious, but Peter remembers those times fondly. And didn't the pack seem more cohesive back then?

"I'll think about it," Talia says.

* * *

There's a druid in the woods. The trees gossip about him. He doesn't share magic, doesn't do much of anything for them. He's the wolves' emissary, Stiles hears. It's easy enough for Stiles to hide from him. The druid seems to be looking for something, but when he doesn't find it, he turns around and goes back the way he came.

The nemeton especially doesn't like him. She's afraid of him. Stiles doesn't know why, and her communication skills aren't sophisticated enough so she can tell him. After the druid leaves, Stiles has to spend more time with her, reassuring her and letting her know he won't let anything bad happen. He suspects the druid is behind her poisoned roots.

He's late for work that day, but he thinks it's worth it.

* * *

"Deaton says there's nothing new in the woods," Talia tells Peter. And to Talia, the case is closed.

To Peter, though, the mystery has only deepened. Someone or something that can hide from a druid is interested in the preserve. The more time Peter spends in the woods, the stronger the feeling gets. The scent lingers. Everything feels like.. more. More green, more growing. The woods themselves feel happier, if that's even possible.

And everything, if he forgives himself for the flight of fancy, feels more magical.

* * *

Stiles walks in spirals around the nemeton, always circling back to her. But the further away he gets, the more the trees whisper of wolves. The nemeton doesn't have much to say about the wolves except she's hidden their pups before, kept them safe from hunters. But she doesn't know their Alpha and her reach doesn't touch the pack house. (Not yet. It will soon, from all the magic Stiles has been sinking into the land.)

Stiles wonders why the wolves haven't confronted him yet, and the nemeton gets a giddy, sly feeling. She's hiding him, of course, just like she's been hiding herself from the druid.

Stiles pats her trunk. "Good girl. Thank you. But I need to talk to them sooner or later."

Well, there is one wolf she doesn't mind. One of the pups, all grown up. He still runs through the woods like he should, and she remembers him being close to another who felt like Stiles, the old Alpha's emissary.

"Okay. Well. Let him find me, I guess," Stiles says, and the nemeton hums through the wind.

* * *

Today, the scent is stronger and Peter follows his nose. Right to a young man who smells of moss and herbs and bark and everything green and growing. 

He doesn't see Peter at first. He's distracted by… talking to the plants? "Oh, my lovelies, you've been so mistreated, I see, I see, don't worry. I'll make sure to get you a little magic too. Oh, and you haven't been fertilized in so long, I can tell, it's okay. Shh, it's okay. No one's ignoring you now."

Peter blinks. The sun is shining brightly and the light crests on the young man's head like a halo. He smells even better the closer Peter gets, like a patch of clover his wolf wants to roll all over.

And then the man turns to look right at him. He gives a smile and Peter feels helpless to do anything but smile back.

"I've been looking for you for weeks," Peter says.

"I'm Stiles," the man says. He looks to be in his early twenties, maybe a little younger than Derek. Stiles holds out a hand to shake, and Peter takes it without thinking.

"Peter Hale."

Stiles tilts his head and smiles as though he hears someone calling. "Follow me."

And pessimistic, jaded, overly-cautious Peter _does_. He doesn't feel as if he's wrapped up in a spell, though it's entirely possible. There's something special about this one. Something magical.

Along the way to their destination, Stiles hums, whispers, tilts his head a lot like he's listening. Peter remembers Paulina did the same. It comes to him then, all of a sudden.

"Are you a green spark?" Peter asks outright.

Stiles stops, turns, and smiles. "I am. How did you know? Not many people even know about sparks, let alone the different types."

"I knew someone else who was like you," Peter says, and being around Stiles, watching him, smelling his scent — it's bringing it all back. He remembers being small and walking through the forest with Paulina, learning about botany and herb magic side by side. He remembers how whole he felt back then, how connected he was to the land and everything on it. He's wistful. If only he could feel that way again.

Stiles nods. "The old emissary."

"How…?"

"They've told me about her," Stiles says, gesturing around, at the trees? It all seems fantastical, but if Stiles is a green spark it makes sense. "She was loved." He continues to walk and Peter realizes the scent of growth and magic is getting stronger. It's not just coming from Stiles, but from something up ahead.

And then they reach a clearing Peter hasn't seen in years. A massive oak stands at its center, radiating power. Stiles goes right to it and puts his palms flat against the trunk.

"Look who I brought," Stiles whispers, but Peter hears. "Is this the pup you remember?"

The leaves seem to shiver and shimmer. Magic pulses. And Peter has another memory, of being a teenager and hiding from hunters here. 

"It's the nemeton," Peter says. He can't quite keep the awe out of his voice. Even when the darach was around, they never found the nemeton itself.

"We need your help, Peter." Stiles turns, still keeping one hand on the nemeton's trunk. 

And Peter… he has older memories, too. Of coming here with Paulina and his grandmother, of being in awe of the nemeton's size and age. "What can I do?"

"Someone's trying to kill her," Stiles says. He frowns and looks down at the ground. "She can't be cut down directly, she'd fight it. She does have some defenses. But if she was weakened first, then they could. And someone poisoned her roots. Someone she's afraid of."

"Why would anyone want to hurt the tree?" Peter asks, genuinely confused.

Stiles's eyes narrow and he looks fierce and beautiful at the same time. "All I can think is that… that they misunderstand her. Or maybe they want her weak so she'll do what they want. I don't know. I'm hoping it's a misunderstanding, because otherwise we're dealing with a darach."

Peter nods. He's dealt with a darach in the past, and doesn't want a repeat. "Do you know who's doing it?"

"A druid. Your pack's emissary, I believe."

"How do you know so much?" Peter asks, unnerved. He's never had a human so blatantly reveal he knows about the supernatural before.

Stiles nods toward the nemeton. "She sent for me to protect her. She tells me things."

"And if we can't save… her?"

"We've bonded. I'm connected to her now. If something happens, if she gets sick, corrupted, killed… it will affect me as well."

Peter doesn't understand how a person can be bonded to a nemeton, to a _tree_ , but he figures if anyone can, it would be a green spark. Still. It's odd.

Stiles correctly interprets the look on Peter's face. "Weird, I know. But these things just happen sometimes."

"If you say so," Peter says dubiously.

Stiles barks a laugh. His eyes twinkle. His smile is wide and beautiful. Peter is smitten despite himself.

* * *

Peter brings Stiles to Talia. Talia calls Deaton in. Without thought, Stiles scoots closer to Peter when Deaton enters the Hale home.

Peter doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he moves closer, so that their shoulders press together. It's a comfort Stiles wasn't expecting. He finds he likes it.

"You can't kill her," is the first thing Stiles says when he sees Deaton. Then he kicks himself. "Sorry. I'm Stiles Stilinski. The nemeton called me here when you started poisoning her. What- Why would you do that? She's not a threat to anyone!"

"Alan, if you could explain what's happening, I'd be much obliged," Talia says dryly. Then, with more feeling, "Is it true, what this boy says? Are you poisoning the nemeton?"

The druid, Deaton, inclines his head. "I couldn't outright destroy it. It's too powerful."

Stiles can't help but smirk. "She knocked you on your ass, didn't she?"

Deaton purses his lips. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were trying to kill the nemeton?" Talia asks. "It isn't your place to… I would have stopped you."

"Which is why I didn't ask permission," Deaton says. He bows his head and sighs. "The nemeton is dangerous. We can't afford to leave it in our territory. Anyone could come along and misuse its power, as we well know."

"Excuse me," Stiles says, gritting his teeth, anger ready to boil over. "Do you even know what a nemeton is? You're a druid. You should know better."

Peter leans into him more firmly. "Stiles is a green spark," he says. "Like Paulina."

Deaton's eyes widen. Talia nods. 

Stiles can't help himself. "A nemeton is holy. Yes, someone could abuse her power, but your job is to protect her from that." He shakes his head. "But you don't have to, because I will. I've already moved here to Beacon Hills, and I'm bonded to the nemeton. I'll protect her... and care for her."

"What do you mean when you say 'holy'?" Peter asks, curiosity in his voice.

Stiles smiles at him. "A nemeton is like… a church. A place of worship." It's not all she is of course, but her essence… yes.

"You've _bonded_ with it… her?" Deaton asks. His eyes are even wider now.

Stiles turns to the druid and smiles with all his teeth. A challenge. "Yes. I have." _What are you gonna do about it?_

Talia makes a frustrated sound. "Does no one think to ask before doing these things in my territory?"

"Alpha-" Deaton says, but he doesn't follow it up with anything.

"It was an accident," Stiles mumbles. "I didn't know she was going to bond to me."

Deaton clears his throat. Talia looks at him expectantly, but he shakes his head. It seems he has nothing more to say in his defense.

All the more reason for Stiles to speak up. "The territory's been neglected. The forest was starved for magic before I got here." He glares at the druid. "Do you have any defense for that?"

"You know nothing about me," Deaton says. "You're practically a child. You have no idea what it means to be an Emissary-"

"I know more than you," Stiles spits out. "How are you maintaining the pack's bond to the territory? I can barely sense it!"

Talia frowns. Beside Stiles, Peter makes a soft sound, like he understands something all of a sudden. Good.

"Paulina's tie to the pack was stronger than Deaton's, I thought… I thought it was personal. I didn't realize…" Talia trails off. Then her expression firms. "Alan, I'll speak with you privately."

"Come tell me more about the bond to the territory our pack should have," Peter says, and rests his hand on Stiles's lower back as he leads him out of Talia's study.

* * *

Peter likes the way Stiles smells. The closer he gets, the more tantalizing the scent. It's difficult not to give into his instincts when all Peter wants to do is bury his nose next to the young man's skin.

"Is this going to cause problems in your pack?" Stiles asks, and Peter momentarily forgets what he's talking about.

"Deaton? Well…" Peter shrugs and leads Stiles outside to where Paulina's greenhouse still stands. "I'm sure Talia and he will work it out. I'd rather talk about you, to be honest."

Stiles scrunches his nose adorably. "I thought you wanted to know about the territory bond?"

"I do," Peter assures him. "I want to know everything." Stiles grins at him. It makes something warm bloom in Peter's chest. Peter opens the door to Paulina's greenhouse. "Our previous emissary practically lived here. She was a lot closer to us than Deaton is. Deaton… he has a veterinary practice in town, and he has a house of his own. Paulina did things differently."

Stiles lets out a soft 'ohh', as he sees the inside of the greenhouse. Then he starts fluttering from plant to plant, whispering softly to them. "Oh you poor darlings. So neglected. It's okay, it's okay, I'm here now. Everything will be okay."

Peter feels suddenly very guilty. "I water them sometimes, but I admit for the most part we've been very neglectful. Talia used to have the children work out here as punishment if they got in trouble…" He shrugs. "I'm surprised anything is still alive out here."

"Some magic has sustained them," Stiles murmurs. "She must have put a lot of care into their upkeep." He touches a brown fern and it unfurls into something green and beautiful.

"You're amazing," Peter says before he can think better of it.

Stiles spins around to look at him, his eyes wide. "I'm not… I just…" He holds his hands up as if he's done nothing. They're smudged with soil now. Peter is charmed.

"Don't stop." Peter gestures at all the drooping, dead, and ailing plants that surround them. "As long as I can watch you're welcome to… work your magic as much as you like."

Stiles looks at the plants longingly. "Thank you," he says quietly. Then resolve comes over his face. "I need things. Manure. Baking soda. Epsom salts. Ammonia. Some empty jugs and a good supply of water."

"Would you like me to drive you into town to get some things?" Peter asks.

"Will you, really?" Stiles smiles at him. It's shy and grateful. "Thanks."

It's dark by the time they get back, and Stiles has babbled on about ley lines and magic and plants almost the entire time. Peter's found every word fascinating.

"You probably want to do all this in the morning," Peter says.

"What, no!" Stiles says. "I'll do this tonight. I have work tomorrow." Which is how Peter finds out about Stiles's job at the local nursery.

"You don't mind working in the dark?" Peter asks as he helps Stiles carry a bag of manure back to the greenhouse.

Stiles smirks. Peter can see it clearly. Probably because Stiles just made a soft green light shine in his palm.

"Nicely done," Peter tells him.

Peter watches, fascinated, as Stiles makes a special water for the plants, with the epsom salts, baking soda, and ammonia. Peter would have thought ammonia would kill plants, but Stiles just smiles and mixes it in.

"I would have thought you'd go for all-natural ingredients," Peter murmurs.

"My grandmother did this," Stiles says. "I like to carry on the tradition. Besides, ammonia is natural."

"It certainly smells like a chemical," Peter counters.

"Chemicals are naturally occurring too, you know."

Peter loves the way Stiles doesn't back down, and he enjoys watching his fingers work. He has amazing hands. Peter finds himself helping with the soil. He doesn't usually like getting dirty, but Stiles makes it fun. Peter's focused almost entirely on the green spark. On his scent. His fingers. His eyes. Everything about him makes Peter's wolf sit up and take notice.

Around two in the morning, Stiles has finished with everything. He sighs and looks over the plants with pride. Peter is proud for him, too. Everything looks ten times better. 

"I should go. I need sleep," Stiles says.

"Want a ride back to town?" Peter asks.

Stiles laughs. "I was just going to bed down at the nemeton, actually. She's been pouting."

Peter boggles at the idea of an old oak tree pouting. "Why? Or do I want to know?"

"I've been away from her for too long," Stiles explains. "She'll settle eventually, but our bond is new right now and she wants to keep me close."

"...Do you want company?" Peter asks hesitantly.

Stiles gives him a soft look. "Go to bed, Peter. I'll be fine. Maybe… maybe another time."

And then Stiles wanders off into the woods. Peter makes his way back to the house.

"Did you have fun in the greenhouse?" Talia asks before Peter can go to his room.

"Just keeping an eye on our guest," Peter says.

Talia huffs a laugh. "I'm sure that's all there was to it."

"What happened with Deaton?" Peter asks. He's curious.

She doesn't look happy. "He's on probation."

"Really?" Peter asks. "That bad?"

"If Stiles wasn't so young, I'd consider him for the position," Talia murmurs.

Peter's eyebrows go up.

Talia sighs. "Go ahead and go to bed."

"Good night." Peter goes to sleep and dreams of endless possibilities.

* * *

Stiles meets the Hales on a Wednesday. He's kidnapped that Friday. Right out of the Hales' greenhouse, too. One moment he's working on bringing the hellebore back to life, and then he gets knocked in the back of the head. He wakes up in an unfamiliar cellar, with a familiar druid guarding him.

Stiles glares at Deaton, wiggling his fingers. His hands are bound with cold iron. Useful against fae but also, as very few people know, against green sparks. "Why are you doing this?"

"I need to break your bond with the nemeton," Deaton says calmly. "I'm very sorry I have to do it this way. If you'd just listened to me this would have turned out differently."

"But _why?_ She isn't doing anything bad. She's not evil. She doesn't need killing!"

Deaton's lips twist. "Two years ago there was a darach. She gave human sacrifices in order to capture the nemeton's power. We killed her before she could take it over completely, but the threat remains. The tree is dark, tainted by what she did."

Stiles narrows his eyes. He can feel the nemeton's panic. She knows Stiles is in trouble, but she can't affect anything, can't get to him. He sends a pulse of reassurance down the bond. Deaton may be able to keep him from doing magic, but the bond is deeper magic still. Cold iron won't stop it. "How do you propose to end the bond?"

Deaton's lips curl in distaste. Whatever it is, he doesn't want to do it.

"Are you going to kill me?" Stiles asks. He works on not showing his fear.

The druid sighs. "Kill? No. But I'm afraid I have to poison you quite a bit. I've studied your bond. Once you weaken, so will the nemeton. Then I'll kill the tree and be done with it."

Stiles grumbles under his breath. "Worst druid ever."

* * *

Peter never gave it much thought, how the nemeton would get his attention. It starts with a rustling.

Peter's doing paperwork at his desk, in his bedroom, when he hears it. It sounds like leaves shaking, but he's inside. Then he hears it again. And again. More insistent, if a rustling could have an emotion.

He gets up and follows the sound downstairs, to the living room. Talia is already there, staring at her ficus. "What has that boy done to my houseplants?"

And yes, plural, because it's not just the ficus. The philodendron by the front door is rustling, too. When he steps closer to it, it rustles more. Like it's trying to communicate.

"...I'm going to go check on Stiles," Peter finally says. 

"You do that," Talia says dryly.

Outside, the hedges rustle as Peter comes near, and then those in front of him shake in invitation(?) as well. He follows them, though he knows he's already going to the greenhouse. Except when he gets to the middle of the greenhouse, the plants all suddenly still. 

And Peter smells blood. Not a lot, but enough. And over by the hellebore (Stiles had been excited about this particular poisonous plant today, said he'd be bringing her back to her former glory) is a short-handled shovel. The blood is on the curved side of the blade, not on the edge. At least Stiles wasn't stabbed with it, just… knocked out? Peter looks around and sees no sign of a struggle, and (thankfully) no more blood. But he smells Deaton. 

He takes out his phone and calls Talia, while he heads through the forest, following the rustling of plants. He quickly tells his sister what he suspects, and what direction he's headed. There are only so many places Deaton could have taken Stiles. Peter thinks he knows where they are.

He runs.

* * *

"I'm sorry it's come to this," Deaton is saying, coming forward with a syringe. "But this really is what's best for everyone. It's the safest course of action."

Stiles really does not like needles. "Why can't you see that my bond to the nemeton is a good thing? I can guard her, make sure no one takes advantage."

Deaton shakes his head. "She's already been corrupted by dark magic. And with your bond, it's only a matter of time before you're corrupted, too."

"But she's _not_ corrupted! She's not tainted at all!" Stiles says, and then cries out when Deaton jabs him with the needle. "Oh my god, dude, do you have to do it so hard?"

"It shouldn't take long," Deaton says, mostly to himself.

"What was in that?" Stiles asks.

"Wolfsbane. Deadly to werewolves, but-"

"Still deadly to humans, too!" Stiles exclaims.

"Not at the dose I gave you. You'll just get very, very sick." And then Deaton moves away and Stiles tries to remember what wolfsbane poisoning in humans looks like. He guesses it depends on the strain.

It doesn't take long before he starts feeling… wrong. His face is numb, his hands and feet start to tingle, and his chest hurts. "Oh, fuck," he says, or tries to say.

But then there's a crash from upstairs and Deaton looks scared. Stiles wants to say something about that, but he's focused on his heart. It's not doing good things. "Um, just so you know, aconite and Adderall are unmixy things."

There's a roar and Deaton has nowhere to go. Stiles wants to feel relief, but he's scared. When Peter bursts into the cellar and pushes Deaton into the corner, hard, Stiles wishes he could be grateful. Instead, he's full of fear because his heart feels like it's going to burst. Plus he's foaming at the mouth like he has rabies.

Peter's in beta form, his eyes glowing. He's beautiful. Then again, Stiles's eyesight isn't so great at the moment.

"Aconite poisoning," he manages to say. 

"Shit," Peter says. Stiles feels the cold iron break away from his skin, but he can't use his magic. "I have to take you to a hospital."

Stiles shakes his head. His vision is dimming. "Nemeton. Take me. Please, Peter."

And then everything goes black.

* * *

If Peter didn't know how to get from the old hunting cabin to the nemeton, he wouldn't have to worry. The trees, the shrubs, everything is anxiously pointing the way. 

Again, Peter finds himself running through the preserve, but this time with Stiles tucked up against his chest as he carries him. Stiles feels light and fragile in his arms. Peter hopes he's right about the nemeton. In any other circumstance, he'd be taking the boy to the hospital.

He's not a boy, though. He's a young man, though he's fifteen years younger than Peter. Still, Peter hasn't felt the years when he's spent time with Stiles. He's been fascinated, completely drawn to the green spark. 

He just hopes there is time to explore whatever spark they have between them. It would be a shame if Stiles died. More than a shame; a tragedy. His phone rings in his pocket but he doesn't slow to answer it. He'll answer to Talia once he's sure Stiles will live.

Once at the nemeton, Peter lays Stiles down at her roots. He feels the magic in the air, the thick air of anxiety. He wonders, is this what Stiles feels all the time? Maybe not this particular emotion, but this easily? He must. 

"Please. He's been poisoned. I don't know if you can hear me, or if you understand — I'm not a spark, I don't speak your language the way Stiles does. But… please heal him," Peter says. 

His phone rings again and this time he picks up. "Talia, I've got Stiles at the nemeton. Deaton poisoned him." He snarls in remembrance. "I don't know if Stiles will live, but he didn't want a hospital."

Talia's quiet for a long moment. Then she growls. "I'll deal with Alan."

Good. Peter hopes she rips his throat out. The line goes dead and Peter puts his phone away. He kneels close to Stiles and touches his forehead. His cheek. He's deathly pale, almost gray. His heartbeat isn't right. 

"Live, sweetheart," Peter whispers.

* * *

When Stiles wakes, he's not at the nemeton. He's lying in an unfamiliar bed with a giant black wolf next to him. In his sleep, he'd rolled close and slung an arm around the animal.

"What the fuck?" Stiles says, or tries to say. His throat is parched and feels like he's been screaming.

The wolf picks up its — his? — head and noses at his cheek. 

"Peter?" Stiles asks, then realizes of course the wolf is Peter. Who else could it be?

The wolf huffs. Then it wriggles away and jumps off the bed. Stiles is sad to see it go. He wishes he could remember cuddling up to it, because let's face it, that would be awesome.

A few minutes later, Stiles is drinking water out of the tap in the bathroom and Peter saunters in. Stands in the doorway and smiles. He's wearing a v-neck shirt and a pair of jeans without shoes or socks. "It's good to see you awake."

Stiles smiles back. His throat feels much better now that he's soothed it with water. He realizes he's starving. "How long has it been?"

"Two days since Deaton poisoned you," Peter says. There's a growl in his voice. He doesn't sound too happy with the druid.

"Where is he?" Stiles asks. He's still wary. He doesn't like the idea of Deaton being around somewhere to kidnap him again.

"You're safe. I'll let Talia explain it to you."

Stiles is a little unsteady on his feet but he holds onto the counter and the doorframe to walk. Peter is apparently not having any of that and slips an arm around his waist. Stiles blushes. "Thanks for the help."

"The nemeton did a lot to heal you, but you'll probably still be weak for awhile," Peter tells him. "I hope you'll stay with us while you recover."

"If it's not a bother," Stiles says quietly. Peter helps him down the stairs and Stiles's stomach rumbles. "I hope you're taking me to food."

"It's dinner time," Peter says. "It'll give you a chance to meet the rest of the family." Stiles isn't sure if he's ready to meet a lot of people. It must show on his face because Peter pulls him close. "It's fine. They'll love you. And I'll be right by your side the whole time."

Stiles doesn't mean to cling to Peter like a limpet, but he ends up doing so anyway. It's how Talia finds them right outside the dining room.

"Stiles," she says, her voice warm and inviting. "It's good to see you awake, and walking around." She looks at them both with amusement.

Shaking her hand would mean untangling from Peter's hold. Stiles would rather hide his face against Peter's neck.

"Don't be too long. Dinner will get cold." She sounds like she's laughing, though he's not sure if she's laughing at _him_ or _Peter_. Possibly both. Stiles hears the door close.

Peter strokes his back. It feels good.

"Promise you won't leave me alone in there?" Stiles whispers. He's perfectly aware that if they wanted, all the other wolves in the house could hear him, too.

"I promise," Peter says.

"How big is your pack?" Stiles asks as Peter opens the dining room door for him. Stiles goes in and blinks at the long table filled with people. They all look at him curiously, but most of them are smiling.

Talia makes introductions. Her husband. Her three (grown) children. Her mother and father in law. Her sister and brother in law. Her other sister and her wife. Her two nieces. Her four nephews.

Stiles is blown away, and he doesn't remember a single name. "Do you all live here?"

Laughter. Talia answers. "My sisters and their families live in Beacon Heights. Richard's parents live in town. Usually it's just the six of us."

Richard is her husband.

"I'm never going to remember everyone's name," Stiles says, but his eyes are entirely on the food. His stomach rumbles again.

"Sit and eat, Stiles," Talia says, though no one else is eating yet. Then Talia takes a bite of her roast and everyone else starts eating like... wolves.

Peter puts food on Stiles's plate as he eats. Peter puts mashed potatoes on the plate, so Stiles has to try those. Peter puts gravy on the meat and potatoes and it makes Stiles moan. It's delicious. Everything is delicious, even the carrots, which Stiles isn't a big fan of normally. These are glazed with honey and… something. Citrus? Wonderful.

Peter looks pleased. Stiles has no time to figure out why. He's too busy eating. Peter pours some red wine into his glass and Stiles takes a sip. He usually doesn't like wine, but this one complements the roast perfectly. By this time Peter looks smug and others at the table are rolling their eyes or looking at them with affection. Talia in particular looks pleased.

Stiles realizes they think he and Peter are… an item. Or on their way to being one. And Stiles isn't sure about that. He knows he likes Peter, is grateful to him for a lot of big and little things (though rescuing him from a kidnapping and poisoning is high on the list). But does Peter like him like that — and is Stiles looking at this right, anyway? He cuts his eyes to Peter and sees him looking at him. Softly.

Stiles looks away quickly and feels a blush come on.

"The roast is really tender," Stiles remarks.

"Richard cooked," Talia says proudly.

Stiles raises his glass at Richard. "Compliments to the chef, then."

RIchard smiles. "Thank you."

The others around the table raise their glasses as well. Richard smiles even wider and Talia leans into him with a smile of her own.

After that it gets loud. Most of the food is gone and Stiles guesses that means it's time to talk. And _everyone_ talks. Well, Stiles doesn't. Peter says a few things to his sisters, though he's more reserved than the rest of them. 

At first they just talk about the food, recipes, how certain people in the family used to cook roast, a quick story about a roasting pan Talia's grandmother always used, and then all eyes seem to turn to Stiles.

One of Talia's children, her youngest daughter, asks, "How did the nemeton heal you?"

Stiles doesn't know. "I was passed out for that part, sorry."

"Do you really have a bond to the tree?" someone else asks. One of Talia's sisters. The other sister says, "I don't doubt it. Remember Paulina?"

Then the words 'green spark' get passed around a bit and it's time for Stiles to feel uncomfortable again. But it's not a particularly bad feeling, just more like he doesn't know what they expect from him and he's sure they think he's more than he is.

Stiles hums answers more than using words. He's not usually so quiet but the Hales are intimidating. And there's so many of them! If Peter wasn't right there by his side, he'd probably run out.

But Peter _is_ by his side. And when Stiles gets too uncomfortable or doesn't want to answer a question, Peter seems to know. He glares at one of his nieces. He raises an eyebrow at one of his brothers-in-law (not Richard, who's been a saint so far).

By the time dinner is over, Stiles is tired, though. He's about ready to go back to bed. He finds himself listing to the side a bit, leaning on Peter's shoulder. His eyes flutter closed. 

"Darling, you can't sleep in the dining room," Peter says to him. "Just stay awake a bit longer, okay?"

Stiles sighs and opens his eyes. He's pleased to see everyone but Peter and Talia have left the room. Talia's looking at them with a small smile.

"I only want a moment to speak," Talia says.

Stiles rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn. "Yeah?"

"You don't have to worry about Alan anymore," Talia says. 

Peter has an arm around him. When did that happen? Peter squeezes his shoulder and it reassures him, for some reason. It's nice.

"What happened?" Stiles asks.

Talia's lips purse. "I couldn't talk him out of wanting to break your bond and kill the nemeton. I was forced to take his memories and send him to the Council to be dealt with."

Stiles widens his eyes. He's not exactly sleepy anymore. "You… took his memories? That's… drastic."

"What he did to you was unforgivable. You were a guest in my territory and he kidnapped and nearly killed you."

Beside him, Peter snarls softly. Stiles looks at him and sees he's glaring down at the table. Remembering what happened? It's nice. Not that Peter's upset, but that he cares enough to be upset.

"Thank you for telling me, Alpha Hale." A little formality seems called for.

Talia smiles. "Our next emissary will be much more understanding of your particular situation."

"I hope so," Stiles murmurs.

"Maybe even a green spark," Talia says. Her eyes are dancing.

It takes Stiles a moment. He's tired and his thought processes aren't moving as quickly as usual. But even so, what he's thinking can't possibly be right. "You… don't mean _me_ do you?"

Peter squeezes him again and Stiles leans into the embrace. 

"If you're willing and able to undertake the training… then yes, that's exactly what I mean." Talia lays her hands flat on the table. "It will take time. You're very young. But I don't expect an answer right away. You should wait and get to know us."

Stiles doesn't know what to think. It's so much, such a big opportunity. Stiles feels like his whole future is resting on his answer. He's grateful he has time before he needs to say one way or another.

Talia gives him another smile. "I'm going to leave you alone now. Peter, will you see him back to bed?"

"Of course," Peter says, and sounds offended that she asked. Stiles huffs a laugh.

Peter helps him up out of his chair — he didn't think he needed it, but he's still weak. His balance is off, too. Peter looks like he's about to just scoop him into his arms and carry him, but Stiles gives him a look that stops him. It doesn't keep Stiles from leaning heavily on Peter as they walk upstairs. Back to the room Stiles woke up in.

It doesn't look like a guest suite. "Is this your room?"

Peter looks almost flustered, but it only lasts a split second. Then he smirks. "I just wanted you in my bed."

"You're such a flirt, how did I never notice this before?" Stiles teases.

"You're usually preoccupied," Peter says wryly.

Stiles looks around the room. It's neat, with a desk by the window and its own bathroom. A large walk-in closet is on the opposite side of the room. It's about the same size as Stiles's entire apartment. "This house must be huge."

Peter shrugs. "We're a big pack."

"Was that the whole pack at dinner?" Stiles asks. Then he yawns. Peter pulls back the covers for him.

"Oh, no. That was just blood family," Peter says with a grin.

Stiles snuggles under the covers and frowns. "It would be a lot of responsibility for an Emissary to serve such a large pack." He's not sure he's up to the challenge.

Peter sits beside him on the bed. He touches Stiles's forehead. Drains a bit of headache away that Stiles was only barely aware of. "You don't have to. It was just a thought Talia had. You're going to be accepted either way."

Stiles relaxes. Peter seemed to get to the heart of the problem without Stiles even actively thinking about it. "Not gonna run me away?"

"Never," Peter says. He takes Stiles's hand in one of his. "I want you around. Talking nonsense to plants. Making everything green. Smelling of magic and possibility."

Stiles is sleepy but he understands this much. "You really like me."

"I do," Peter says seriously.

Stiles smiles at him. "Are you gonna cuddle me in my sleep again?"

"If you'd like. I'll be right back." He starts to pull away.

Stiles holds tight to his hand. "Not as a wolf. Just you."

Peter's eyebrows go up.

"Please," Stiles says, and his face is heating again.

"Of course," Peter murmurs. "On top of the covers?"

Stiles closes his eyes and rolls to his side. "Nah. Hard to spoon like that."

He hears Peter huff a laugh, sounding incredulous. "You're something else." But then Peter is slipping under the covers with him, pulling him close. He's solid warmth against Stiles's back, and the arm around Stiles's middle is rather nice.

"Perfect," Stiles slurs, already half asleep. And then he's asleep completely.

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments!


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